Six Days At the Bottom of the Ocean
by opti-mnff
Summary: Nights are worse now with another one of his loved ones passing. Ron doesn't know how to handle it, and tries his best to calm himself in the cool morning air. Sometimes, however, there are things you just can't do alone.


_A/N: Well, this is a sort of companion to _More Than Just You. _Personal loss and the constant help have made things like this possible, and so easy to write about. I hope you enjoy it as much as it was cathartic for me to write. Thanks._

_Oh, and just so you know, I haven't abandoned _In Hermione Granger. _It's just incredibly difficult writing a story without retreading ground, especially generic ground, and most definitely when the material is supposed to be so goofy without being too over the top (which I _certainly _didn't do in the first chapter.) Just thought you ought to know._

* * *

You shouldn't feel like this. It shouldn't be as easy to just _forget_ like it seems to be, and the tears are meant to continue falling. But they don't, and maybe that's the point. Forward momentum and constant motion - don't stop except for the memories.

Clinging to each step were your feet, stumbling downward with focus even in your daze. Things had been like this for a few days ever since you came back to the house, leaving training and the cloister you holed up in over the past few days. No mixture of sympathy or anger could let your best friend in, and the crushing passage between frustration and grief was slung toward him through the door. He didn't need to see you like this, so you took it out on Harry.

Worse yet were the others. Ginny yelled at first - she always did - but after her posturing she fell back against the door and you could hear her crying as well. That nearly opened the door. She certainly made it apparent that this affected more than just you. George never visited.

He was likely doing the same as you.

Charlie had been home the whole time, trying his best to take care of the family when the pillars were crumbling around them. It's all they had - all _you_ had - and that explained why Percy never budged an inch from beside Charlie's post. No one had to ask why, and you didn't want to hear it either. You knew he was going through this as well, but he tried to stay strong at least. It was more than you could say for yourself, so you never asked the others about him. Brotherly intuition, even for Percy, won out in the end.

Bill's heavy footsteps only clambered up to the door once, knocked, and then left after a great sigh. Your dad never came up, and you don't blame him. You wouldn't have come up if the roles were reversed - a thought that sent a chill down your spine and made you worry about Hermione even more. She refused your company to Australia and you weren't ready to argue about it even if you wanted to. Everyone needed space right now, and you're certain her saying those words would have terrified you if she hadn't kissed you like that. Or like when she left and, before then, nearly every time you were away from your family and Harry. So instead you stayed home.

From the reverie you're returned to the quagmire of the steps, and the haze of sleep has faded. You want to escape from the grip of your own thoughts, but even the wood of the stairs is fighting. Everything is fighting, trying to worm inside and burrow deep into every step you take. But you've got to keep going and continue down the leaden path. You didn't even know something so natural could ever be so difficult - even trudging back from the tents and pitch of the training grounds was child's play compared to the weight of every thought that came with each step.

After what felt like an eternity your phantom pains continued to try and dissuade the nighttime walk, but no amount of resistance - physical or psychological - could push you back tonight. The outer shell was breaking ever so slowly.

In the dim light of the dawn you saw a pair lying parallel on the sofa, one patch of messy black facing opposite a pale face surrounded by red hair. For the first time that you've seen them in this position, and you chuckle at having lost count of the times seeing this, you smile. Maybe it's because you wish you could just have somebody to hold onto when the nights churned onward. The smile fades and you continue outside to finish your journey towards whatever goal you had in mind. It didn't really matter anymore what the reason was for going outside.

The break of fresh air on your skin reignited something inside and you breathed deep. It felt like the first breath in far too long, or really the only you've taken that wasn't shortened by a snort or an attempt to calm yourself down. It was clarity. It was freedom from the pit you were falling deeper and deeper into since the funeral.

Your brain hadn't even registered what happened that day. One moment your mum was just going about her usual and worrying over supper, and then she just stopped talking. Ginny made a joke, figuring that she realized no one was responding to her, but after a frightening handful of seconds everyone rushed into the kitchen. Surely the joke would've been heard? Where was the snappy comeback or the frustrated grunt?

No one knew what to do when they found your mum wheezing slowly and grasping wildly. Even trying to calm her down had no effect and, in front of your eyes, a woman who had just months before killed one of the most violent and terrible people in the Wizarding history was just… gone. It all happened so fast - and in front of you - that there was nothing holding back the tears and nothing there to explain what had happened. No one but your dad to wonder what all of the commotion was about.

The look on his face was what you did remember. Every inch, every fine wrinkle that curled into a smile slowly falling and turning into a look of terrible fear, was etched into the moment and your memory.

The cool air was pushing you forward past the Apparition barrier and closer to a short dirt path that ended in an outcropping of rock. It wasn't exactly secluded, but you liked the feel of the cold stone when you lay down against it and the whirring of the wind around you. It was a small comfort for the quickly returning dismal atmosphere of your room, and even standing up and staying in motion didn't seem to help.

Instead, you fell back against the rocks again and looked backward at the Burrow. The lopsided structure, the haphazard assortment of construction that had gone into it, didn't look like home anymore. The warm red peeling about the building was familiar, the smell of the grass and the stone was synonymous to the house, but the pillar of the foundations was suddenly gone from the picture. You wouldn't come home to the voice of your mother 'nagging' you to tidy up before you eat, and the impatient tutting was no longer a constant.

These thoughts had rattled over and over inside of you, and you had stopped crying over them. You just couldn't do it anymore, so instead you turned away from the rising sun and towards the red fade across the sky. As hours passed, and you sat away from your thoughts for the time being, the red scattered from the sky and was steadily replaced by the daylight blue.

The cold stone had begun to cramp up your back when you stood up. You're sure the sound of your bones shifting and cracking almost masked the distinct snap of Apparition, but the noise was definite and caused an immediate reaction. On instinct you reached for the inside of the robes you weren't in, and fumbled around in search of the wand you hadn't taken with you. After a few moments of agitation you slunk behind the obelisks, shielding yourself as much as the rock could hide the absurd overgrowth of legs. You scanned the area in front of you in the clearing, and took a moment to glance at the copse behind. The sound had most definitely come from the clearing, you thought, but the months on the run had heightened reflexes you didn't even know existed.

Those instincts must have activated further because, in between trying to focus in on the dot moving closer and closer to the Burrow, you had picked up one of the smaller stones lying around.

However, as the figure came closer and closer and their features filled in by the mid-morning light, the stone slipped from your grip. The legs holding you back on the stairs forced you upward and toward the figure at a breakneck speed. The collision sent an incredible surge through you and ignited _every_ nerve across your body. It had been mere seconds when you loosened what was surely a vise-like grip and the sloppy, excited kisses began, but you forced yourself to break from them and fully appreciate her return. Your brain didn't remark that she had gained back some of the weight from the hunt or that she was more tan than you remember. Instead you saw the smile, heard her voice, and were reminded that you didn't have to try and get through this alone.

"Hi."

And your heart almost stopped. You swore the small, breathy sound of a simple greeting had never sounded so amazing. The terrible murk was still sitting in the bottom of your stomach, waiting to resurface, but you weren't alone now. You never really were, but you'd soon realize that. It wouldn't take long to recognize that sometimes it takes one more person - one in particular most of the time - to help you recoup from the fight in the pits.

And now she was back.


End file.
